


Lovesick Morons

by zeldadestry



Category: Catcher in the Rye - J. D. Salinger
Genre: Community: 100_women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-31
Updated: 2007-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm afraid he's going to be the one having a god damn nervous breakdown. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovesick Morons

**Author's Note:**

> prompt 59, 'afternoon', 100_women fanfic challenge

The sick thing is that they both think they know me, they both think I'm this perpetual little girl. Can't be myself with either of them. DB confuses cynicism with wisdom, and if anyone's happy around him, he's convinced it's all an act. He's spent too much time in Hollywood, see? Surrounded by actors and now he thinks that all anyone ever does is pretend, fool themselves. And Holden, hell, Holden is scary if he thinks I'm upset. Like if I've got tears in my eyes or my voice wavers, he'll literally start bawling, tears streaming down his face, so that no matter what's gone wrong in my life, I end up comforting him. I have to lie and tell him I'm fine, I'm ok, everything's great or I'm afraid he's going to be the one having a god damn nervous breakdown. Again.

I was supposed to meet some friends in Central Park this afternoon, but then Holden called, insisting that we go to the Met, and since he hardly ever comes uptown anymore, hardly ever comes home anymore, it felt important to see him. I hoped I might be able to convince him to come over afterwards for dinner.

When we were little we used to run around the temple of Dendur. He'd pretend to be the mummy of a pharaoh and I'd pretend to be the cocky archeologist who hadn't heeded the warnings about not opening the tomb unless you wanted to be cursed for the rest of your life, and he'd chase me around. And then we'd throw all the pennies we had into the water, and make dozens of wishes, and when we didn't have anymore we'd go beg for more from our parents. All of that was a long time ago, but I wasn't surprised that it was what he wanted to see first. He's very sentimental.

We were talking to a statue of Sekhmet as though she were real and apologizing for it being such a long time since we'd seen her last and asking if she'd missed us, when Holden's voice suddenly broke off and I turned to him to see what was wrong. He was staring at some girl, and she was pretty, yeah, but at first glance, I couldn't figure out why he was gaping at her like she was Sophia Loren. But he kept looking at her, so I kept looking at her, and all of the sudden I knew. "I don't believe it," I said. "That's Jane Gallagher."

"I know," Holden said, and when I looked at him, I saw that he'd gone pale. You think it's just some crap they say in stories to sound dramatic, but he really did look _ill_ all of the sudden, like he might drop if he didn't sit down.

"Are you alright?" I said, and my hand went to his arm, but he knocked it off. He's just like that. I guarantee you that if I were upset and he put his goddamn hand on my shoulder and I knocked it off, he'd pitch a fit and call me an ungrateful brat. But of course it's no problem for him to do it to me when I'm trying to help.

"Jesus Christ, I'm fine. You act like our goddamn mother."

"Don't talk like that about mom, Holden! You're lousy, you know that? Just lousy."

"Shut up," he barked. "We gotta go." He grabbed my hand, just like I was still eight years old, and started steering me towards the exit, but it was too late.

"Phoebe?" She was behind us, calling after us. "Holden?"

I dug my feet in and wouldn't budge. Holden couldn't get me to move again unless he ripped my god damn arm off, and he was really jerking at it, like he just might. "God damn you," he was whispering, "You women are all trying to kill me."

She'd reached us and he let go of me and I opened my arms to her, hugged her, repeated along with her, "It's so good to see you! It's been so long! How are you?"

We went on like that for a minute, all smiles, and then Holden, who hadn't said a word, hadn't even smiled at her, or hugged her back, decided it was time to break up the reunion. "What are you doing here?" he asked, all accusatory, like he owned the god damn place. Honestly, I kind of wanted to slap him. From the look on her face, Jane did, too.

"I'm writing a paper for school."

"Oh, yeah? Where are you in school?"

"Barnard."

"What class are you taking?"

"What are you, a cop?" I complained. "Stop with the questions." But they both ignored me.

"Art Appreciation."

"Art Appreciation," Holden repeated. "Isn't that kind of, excuse me for speaking frankly, bullshit?"

"And what the hell do you mean by that?"

"Who the hell needs to take a class to appreciate art? I mean, you look at it and you like it or you don't. That's it, end of story."

"Well, it may sound like bullshit to you, but I'm enjoying it. It's a serious class, the introductory course for the Art History major, but I'll be sure to let the department know that you don't approve."

"I didn't mean to offend you or anything. Were you always this touchy?"

"Yes, I think I was. Were you always this obnoxious?"

Holden pushed his hair away from his forehead and his fingers were twitching. "Christ, I need a cigarette," he said, and there was such lamentation in his voice, that I kinda understood, all at once. I knew that he was scared, really scared, so scared of screwing it all up, of losing her again, that he had to push and see how easily it could be broken, how easily she could be chased away. Better to say good bye right now, then to know her again, love her again, and have to say it later.

And when Jane opened her purse and pulled out a pack of cigs and said, "I could use one myself," I wanted to throw my arms around her and thank her for understanding, for looking past what he said to what he _meant_.

Their eyes were locked on each other, and when Holden finally looked away he said, "Hey, Phoebe, didn't you have to meet some of your friends at the Park?"

"Yeah, that's right," I said. "I gotta go."

And Jane hugged me again, and Holden winked at me and I made him promise that he would come over for dinner, told Jane she was welcome, too. Told Jane, "You heard him promise. He promised he'd come to dinner. Don't let him break my mother's heart."

"He'll be there," she assured. "I'll make sure of it."

I said good bye to both of them, left them there, still staring at each other. "Lovesick morons," I muttered under my breath, and laughed big enough that it echoed through the solemn marble hall.


End file.
